Pushing into my temporary bedroom—thanks to everyone refusing to let me go back to my own house after news of Drake got out—I kick off my tennis shoes and start wiggling out of my clothes. My sweater and t-shirt are scattered on the floor and my jeans are about to join them when my door swings open. Braden stands in the doorway holding a freshly dry cleaned dress. His wide eyes and flushed cheeks match mine.
“I … I’m sorry. I didn’t, uh, realize you were in here,” Braden stutters.
I snatch up the nearest shirt I can find—a tank top hanging off the edge of the bed—and yank it over my head. My jeans get rebuttoned as well before I turn back around to face him. It’s hard not to notice the way his eyes are still scouring every inch of me. My own reply sounds as inarticulate as his. “You could’ve, um, you know, knocked or something.”
“Sorry,” he says, crossing the distance between us in ground-eating strides.
His eyes don’t leave mine and my heart rate spikes. The stream of primal desire trailing after him doesn’t help, either. The dress he came up to give me is dropped on the bed without another thought. I shiver when his hands slide around my waist, under the edge of my shirt so his warm flesh is pressed up against mine. He holds me there, at arm’s length, and hesitates. My fingers are trembling as I slide them up his chest and around to the back of his neck. The desire to forget the party is starting in half an hour pulses in his eyes. For so long it was him chasing me, then both of us avoiding each other. Ever since killing Drake put me out cold for two days, it’s been something else entirely, something I can’t even explain.
Braden sleeps in the room next to mine, now, but leaving me every night is almost painful for him. It’s like he thinks I’ll slip away if he’s not with me every second. When we are together, he is always touching me, on my shoulder or back, holding my hand, anything to keep in contact. I’m not any better. Not being able to feel him near me sends jolts of anxiety through my body, escalating to a near panic attack if he’s away too long. It terrifies me to think of losing him. No matter what he says, without him here to remind me of love and happiness, I know I’ll lose myself like Drake did. Nightmares of what that man did assault me every night. Only Braden slipping into bed next to me stops my anguished screaming and crying some nights. I can’t survive without him.
In his eyes, I can see that same sentiment echoed deep in his soul. I don’t know if he moves or I do, or both of us, but our bodies press against each other, our mouths joining and drinking in each other’s love. Everywhere he touches me, my skin tingles and burns, the sensation spreading over every inch of me. When our lips part, I gasp for breath and moan softly as his lips move down the curve of my neck to my bare shoulder. Thoughts of music and guests abandon me entirely. I surrender to the need swirling around us. All I care about is Braden. My hands leave his neck and slip under his shirt, pushing the fabric up slowly. His body shudders and he crushes me against him.
I don’t know if he was trying to stop me or urge me to keep going, but a knock at the door kills any chance of finding out. The sound is followed by a head peeking in. Celia freezes at the sight of us in each other’s arms, grinning and blushing at the same time. “Oops,” she says, “I just wanted to make sure you got the dress.”
Reluctantly, I pull my hands away from Braden’s sculpted abdomen and turn away from him. His fingers trail across my body as I turn, refusing to let go. It’s hard to focus on anything but him, but I force myself to pick up the dress and examine it. I didn’t have the time or inclination to shop for something to wear tonight, so Celia said she’d lend me something of hers. I had no idea what she was going to come up with. I only hoped it wasn’t something poofy and frilly. It’s not.
I rip the protective plastic covering off of the dress and thrust it at Celia. “This is what you expect me to wear tonight?”
“Sure, it’ll look great on you,” Celia says innocently.
I stare at the black dress, willing it to catch on fire. It’s gorgeous, no doubt, but there is no way I am wearing it. The silky top portion is gathered across the front with a generous neckline and short ruffled sleeves. That’s not the bad part. The reason I want to unravel every thread is the high empire waist that goes straight down to what I hope is somewhere closer to knee-length than miniskirt. Its super tight look makes me wonder how my hips are even supposed to fit in there. Celia beams at me despite my horror and hands me a pair of shiny black heels. My head starts shaking back and forth slowly.
Throwing the dress at her seems like my only option until Braden’s emotions register with me. He peers over my shoulder at the dress and says, “Why don’t you at least try it on?”
I turn to look up at him so I can argue. The heat radiating from his body makes me falter. I don’t think he’s going to agree with me. He wants very much to see me in this dress. “Okay,” I whisper.
His eager smile pushes me toward the bathroom. My clothes fall to the floor, but I can’t bring myself to put on the dress. I honestly don’t even think it will fit. Celia is dancer-thin, lithe and graceful. Her curves are subtle. Mine are, well, at little more noticeable. What was Celia thinking? Only remembering the smoldering desire in Braden’s eyes keeps me from abandoning it entirely. Taking a deep breath, I remove the dress from the hanger and unzip the back.
One leg at a time I step into the dress. I start pulling it up, expecting a fight, and am surprised when it slides up effortlessly. The dress stretches over my hips and clings against my skin. I shiver under the cool satin top as I pull it into place. The zipper is too high up on my back for me to reach so I settle for getting it in place as best as I can without the zipper so I can at least see how awful I look. My eyes close halfway through turning to face the mirror and I have to force them back open. When I do, I can’t believe what I see.
I look … amazing. I don’t know how Celia manages to find the perfect dress every time, but rather than looking like my hips and butt are trying to escape the dress, the line and color slim and soften them. My stomach is flatter than it’s ever been thanks to never ending training sessions and my legs look pretty good, too. The gathered top looks positively elegant as it drifts down my chest to meet the rest of the dress. I slip into the heels and take in the whole look. I’ll never doubt Celia again.
When I open the door, Celia and Braden turn to face me. Celia beams at me. Her tutu skirt bounces as she hops lightly in her heels. She’s only in my periphery, though. Braden gapes at me. The only other time he’s seen my in a dress is the night he attacked Milo in the theater. Silks and heels aren’t really conducive to combat training. He doesn’t say or do anything. He simply let’s his eyes wander up and down my body. Waves of unadulterated passion roll off of him. Thank goodness Celia isn’t a Perceptive, though I doubt it takes talents to read Braden’s expression right now. The same probably goes for me. I turn around quickly.
“I couldn’t get it zipped up,” I say, looking over my shoulder.
I expect Celia to jump in and give me a hand, but she elbows Braden instead. He glances over at her looking vaguely distracted. She gestures to my back, and says, “Go ahead, Braden. I know you want to. That dress was for your benefit, anyway.”
Braden smirks at her bluntness, but steps up to help me with my dress. I gather my dark hair away from the zipper and wait for the electric touch of his fingertips. The zipper can’t be more than eight or ten inches long. Braden makes the distance last. My heart is about to pound right out of my chest by the time he makes it to the top. Letting go of the zipper, his hands slide down to my hips. I can feel his breath against the nape of my neck. I wait for his lips to follow, but he lurches away from me. When I spin around to find him, I see Celia shoving him toward the door.
“That’s enough, lover boy. She just needed zipped up. Anything else is going to have to wait,” she says. “Now go downstairs and help Hope. I need to do Libby’s hair and makeup.”
Braden pouts, begging me to overrule Celia. I shrug helplessly as she pushes me bac
k into the bathroom. If he had his hands on me for much longer, there was a good chance neither of us would make it down to the party. Probably better if he goes. For now.
“Sheesh,” Celia says as she pulls my hair out of its ponytail, “this dress may have worked too well. Judging by Braden’s reaction, you may have to beat off every guy in the house, maybe even Lance. Hope may not appreciate that.”
“Lance will be fine,” I argue. “I’ve already seen Hope in the dress she’s wearing. She looks amazing. She’s kissing Lance tonight whether she knows it or not. Poor boy isn’t going to be able to help himself.”
Celia giggles, but it isn’t as cheerful as usual. I glance back at her, the pained expression on her face making me guilty right away. “I’m sorry, Celia, that wasn’t very thoughtful of me,” I say.
She shrugs. “It’s okay. I knew I never had much of a chance with Lance, anyway. Competing against you, at first, and then Hope. Well, you’re just plain gorgeous, and Hope is beautiful with a ‘tortured soul that needs rescued’ kind of vibe. I have a feeling that’s right up Lance’s alley. He makes a good knight in shining armor.”
“Yeah, he does,” I say, remembering all the times he was there for me growing up when no one else was. “Celia, don’t think Lance doesn’t think you’re pretty. He thinks you’re beautiful, actually.”
She blushes, but her eyes light up with hope. I hurry to go on.
“But you’re right about Lance. He’s drawn to girls who have a darker, riskier side to them. You’re too good for him. Literally. You’re bright and happy, and no matter how much you like to pretend you’re some dainty petal of a dancer, nobody who spends five minutes with you would ever believe you would need rescued from anything.”
“Hope is strong, though, scary even. When would she ever need Lance to rescue her?” Celia argues.
“Hope needs to be rescued from herself,” I say. Her anger has calmed some since the day we got her out of the Guardian compound, but it still threatens to swallow her whole every once in a while. “Lance is the only person who’s been able to make her smile since we found her.”
Celia frowns and goes back to working on my hair. I hope she’s getting the message. She’s such an amazing girl, I would hate for her to waste her time pining for someone who is never going to be interested in her. Just to give her another reason to look elsewhere, I say, “And just a heads up on Hope, even though she’s yet to kiss Lance, that doesn’t mean she doesn’t already consider him hers. I can feel everything she feels when they’re together. Believe me, you do not want to try and take Lance from her. It won’t end well.”
“Oh,” Celia says.
Disappointment hovers around her, but resignation to the truth is even stronger. Thank goodness.
“I don’t really have time for boys right now, anyway. I’ve got too many other things on my mind.”
I laugh and shake my head. I never thought I would hear those words come out of her mouth. Celia keeps working on my hair and makeup, telling me about the healing techniques her dad has been teaching her. I listen with interest, noting the odd tenor of Celia’s voice as she finishes her work and starts cleaning up slowly, as if waiting or hesitating. When she accidentally knocks over a bottle of foundation because her hand is shaking, I touch her shoulder gently.
“Celia, I didn’t mean to upset you by talking about Lance,” I say.
She shakes her head roughly. “No, it’s not Lance, it’s Milo.”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“I don’t know, but he hasn’t been coming home at night. I don’t know where he’s been going, but I’m worried.” She bites her bottom lips nervously, waiting for my response.
“How long?”
“He’s been gone a lot since the thing with Drake, but he hasn’t come home the past two nights.”
“Could it be a girl?” I ask, not very hopeful.
Celia scoffs. “Are you kidding me? The way he’s been acting lately, I can’t imagine any girl wanting to be around him. He’s been even worse than after his first Inquest the last few weeks. He doesn’t talk to me anymore, or even fight with Mom and Dad. He’s been a ghost. Lance and Braden said he’s been missing a lot of training sessions here, too.”
He has. I already knew about that, and I’ve been trying to find out where he’s going instead of training without success. I thought maybe he was doing some training on his own, wanting to be away from everyone else. Maybe I was wrong. “Celia, do you have any idea where he might be going?”
“No,” she says slowly, hinting that she might know something else.
“Celia, I know Milo’s your brother, but if you think there might be something wrong …”
She bites her lip again, hard enough that I’m afraid she’s going to draw blood. Tears well up in her eyes. “Libby, please don’t be mad at me, but you know what you told me about Braden?” she asks.
My breath catches. A month or so ago, Celia and I were talking through some ideas of how I could give Braden his talents back. When she asked me why I was so intent of giving them back when having more power could only help me against the Guardians, I broke down and told her about Braden possibly being the Socius, the one person who could help me defeat the Guardians. She made the connection of Braden not being my Companion without his talents and redoubled her efforts to help me find a solution. I stare at her and pray she isn’t about to tell me what I think she is.
“I’m so sorry, but Milo knows. He found the research I was doing to try and help you, and he figured it out.”
“When?” I whisper.
“A couple days after Drake died. I’m so sorry. I should have told you when it happened, but Milo didn’t freak out like I thought he would, and I was afraid you’d be mad at me. I’m sorry.” Her shoulders quiver, her tears spilling over and dripping down her cheeks. I reach up and numbly pull her into a hug.
“It’s okay, Celia. It wasn’t your fault. I’m not mad at you,” I tell her.
I’m honestly not, but I am scared. More scared than I was when I was sure Howe was going to take a shot at me. Milo’s one goal in life is to destroy the Guardians for what they put him through. He hates me for what I did to him, but he trusted me to give him the Guardians on a silver platter. It’s really the only reason he hasn’t abandoned me. He knows, now, that there is a very real possibility I can’t deliver on that promise anymore. What will he do when he loses faith in me completely? I don’t know, but I have a terrible feeling I’m going to find out soon enough.
Chapter 27
Morbid Curiosity
I leave Celia alone in the bathroom to freshen up her makeup after crying half of it off. It took some work to calm her down and convince her I wasn’t upset with her. The thing is, I should have been able to tell Milo about Braden and the Socius story and asked for his help. I knew right away I couldn’t risk him doing something we would all regret. He would blame me for taking Braden’s talents and destroying our Companion bond regardless of the fact that killing Braden was my only other option, and I still would have had to face the Guardians without a Companion. Until I could figure out how to give Braden back his talents, I refused to tell him. I’m not even sure the story is right. I hurry down the stairs trying to figure out what Milo will do with the knowledge Celia accidentally gave him.
I hit the landing and Lance sweeps me into his arms and plants a kiss on my cheek. “The place looks amazing. Thanks for this, Libby,” Lance says. “You look fantastic, by the way.”
“Yeah, great. Thanks,” I say distractedly. “Have you seen Milo, or talked to him lately?”
Lance shrugs at the odd question. “Not really. He’s been keeping his distance since Drake. Why?”
“He found out about the Socius story.”
Hope walks up behind Lance and takes his hand. She obviously heard what I just said. Her frown is thoughtful and glaring at the same time. “I don’t like Milo. He’s too angry and unpredictable.”
Lance’s twitches as he strug
gles to contain a laugh. I’m doing the same—thinking Hope is the last person in the world who should be making that judgment—but Hope isn’t paying attention to me. She narrows her eyes at Lance. “What?” she demands.
“Nothing,” Lance says, pulling her hand up to his lips in an effort to distract her. It works. She pulls against him a little more tightly with a slight smile. Lance looks back to me. “You think that’s why his been such a prick lately?”
“Maybe. I’m not sure, but keep an eye out for him, okay?” I ask.
Lance nods.
I’m about to walk off to find Braden when I notice Hope isn’t wearing the dress she showed me a few days ago. In fact, she isn’t wearing a dress at all. I take in her dark blue leggings and matching layered miniskirt curiously. The black belt around her waist has a beautiful silk flower attacked to it that goes perfectly with her sequined navy tank top. She looks great, but I can’t help ask. “What happened to the dress you were going to wear, Hope?”
“Change of plans,” she says, looking up at Lance with a brilliant smile. Lance is grinning as well.
Okay …. Shaking my head at them, I tell Lance happy birthday and excuse myself to go find Braden. Guests are already milling around the ballroom, but I skip by it when I spot Braden coming out of the kitchen. He notices me hurrying toward him and picks up his pace. The tray of mini quiches he’s carrying keep him from greeting me too enthusiastically, but even still, it takes me a couple of seconds to recover from his kiss. I mean to tell him about Milo and ask him what he thinks about it, but I spot Jen marching toward us, and all I have time to say is, “Watch out for Milo.”
Darkening Chaos: Book Three of The Destroyer Trilogy Page 25